Words fail me this summer. I read a lot though (mainly Scandinavian mysteries) and copy-edit; in between obsessing over hyphenated words and slashing adjectives I’m instant film obsessed. Shooting with instant film makes me a more deliberate, careful photographer: I think about composition, framing. I edit the photos in my head before they develop. I am more aware of temperature, in subtle shifts of light. I am becoming more patient, not only in film, but what’s around me. The second year of grief has been difficult, but in a different way. The pain that felt permanent inside my chest has settled into something else: the acceptance that my mother is gone. I knew this intellectually last year, but it’s difficult for the heart to catch up to death’s finality. I get anxiety when I think about this, and it’s confusing to those around me who may think that I should be “over” this, whose words of comfort may fail them as well. It’s also surreal, that someone you have known your entire life is just one day no longer here. There are also moments of intense joy – the ones that made me feel guilty last year, in the wake of her death, but now I see as gifts after a long hard year – ones that I like to believe are from my mother.
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